Bagru Prints

Woman doing block printing at Bagru village, Jaipur, India.

NYC summers can be quite sticky and oppressive—and on those days, I pretty much live in my cotton block print dresses from India.

I particularly love Bagru prints. They were granted a Geographical Indication tag from the United Nations’ World Intellectual Property Organization in 2024, which officially recognizes their local heritage and unique characteristics. The dyes used are derived from natural sources like plants and minerals: true indigo for blue, madder root for red, and iron filings for black.

Artisans use hand-carved blocks to apply the dye directly to fabric, and they also use resist techniques—for which Bagru is especially known. This "Dabu" method is a mud-resist process, where the wooden blocks are dipped into a paste of clay, gum, and wheat powder, and pressed onto the fabric. The paste prevents the dye from penetrating, creating a pattern when the fabric is dyed.

A kaftan I own, featuring a Bagru print using Dabu resist method.

Gau Boxes and Buddhist Amulets

A Tibetan gau box, from my own personal collection.

Tibetan gau are small, portable shrines, containing holy items such as amulets, miniature statues, written mantras, and anything else with a sacred connection. It is said the tradition of gau date back to the 7th century, when Buddhism was introduced to Tibet. Tibetan soldiers often wore them for protection in battle, and both monks and laypeople also used them for spiritual protection and healing. They are also spectacular miniature works of art, made of metal, wood, bone, or stone, and decorated with intricate designs. More beautiful examples and information here:

Rubin Museum of Himalayan Art
Bowers Museum
Enlightenment Thangka

It’s not a surprise I find these little shrines so captivating—as a child, I was fascinated by my dad’s collection of Thai Buddhist amulets. He had maybe seven different ones that were strung on a heavy silver chain, that he wore around his neck every day for protection. Some of the amulets were pressed bronze, some were carved stone figures encased in glass. Hopefully I’ll sneak some photos next time I visit… Or, if you’re in Bangkok, you can always visit the famous Amulet Market and see them yourself!

Kantha Quilts

I love all manner of quilts, but kantha quilts of South Asia are among my favorites.

Rather than throwing out old worn saris, they are given new life as bedspreads simply by stitching them together, layer upon layer. This is usually done by hand, with a basic running stitch, which gives them an imperfect, organic quality. I love how the cloth gets worn in between the stitches over the years—it’s the kind of process that only Time and Use can do so well.

And if a hole starts to develop? Just stitch in a small patch. The blanket is just such a rich, beautiful canvas of textures and colors, filled with so many little stories.

Yantras

Yantras are sacred geometrical diagrams, with origins in India. As their usage spread into Thailand, they became integrated into Buddhist spiritual practice as well, incorporating Thai prayers, symbols and mantras. They can be drawn on any surface, and, honestly, Thai yantra tattoos deserve an entire post to themselves! But for more on the meaning behind specific Thai Buddhist symbols, this article is a fantastic resource.

Buddhist yantra my parents gave to me (in a handmade frame I bought from a shopkeeper in Lausanne, Switzerland!)

I’m particularly smitten with the yantras that are pressed into thin metal sheets. As someone who is obsessed with beautiful tin nichos, and old pressed tin ceilings, it’s not surprising I find these metal yantras just as aesthetically alluring.

Humble Snips and Tiny Lines

Sketch of my little brother, Guy Thada, getting his hair cut by the community as he prepares for his *Buat Nak*.

I was hoping to get this entry done in time for AAPI month, but a higher than usual amount of travel, and extroverting, has left me playing catch up on my schedule.

Last weekend, my brother did his buat nak at Wat Thai D.C., and lived there for a whole week. It’s a Thai tradition where sons enter monkhood for a short period, to study the Buddha’s teachings and practice monastic life. Some do it for a few days, others for a few months–but whatever the duration, it’s considered a very blessed occasion, and the ultimate expression of gratitude to your parents.

Part of the ceremony involves getting your head shaved. With an electric razor, it would only take a matter of minutes–but instead, the act becomes a slow, meditative ceremony unto itself. The main abbot does the first few snips with a pair of scissors, as the rest of the abbots and monks line up for their turn. One snip of hair, and the scissors are passed on. Then, family and all other attendees are invited to take part, each taking a snip. It’s only after everyone has had a turn, that the electric shaver comes out.

His Holiness Luang Ta Chi of Wat Thai D.C., doing the first snips.

It’s a highly inefficient way to get a haircut, but a lovely reminder that in this instance, it’s all about the process, and the community sharing in the joy and gratitude of the ceremony. It really struck a chord within me.

Getting back to NYC, and inspired by all this, I wanted to work on a little something just for me. Just like the humble single snip of hair, I pared everything back to just a short line. And repeated them over and over, to create something greater. Some lines are painted with a brush, some with colored pencil; some are lighter, some are darker. But they are all just single, short strokes… Drawn line after line after line.

Highly inefficient, but full of intention and mindfulness.

Watercolor and colored pencil on paper, 9.5” x 9.5”

Fantastic Binomials

I have been devouring this for the past week. It’s one of those books I’ve immediately come to treasure, and know I will return to over and over again. At its simplest, it is a guide to creative storytelling for children… But more than that, it’s a book that bubbles with energy, trills with melodic wisdom, and provides insight in such a beautiful and utterly inspiring way (not to mention, all the lush illustrations by Matthew Forsythe). You can’t help but want to draw and write, when reading this.

From Chapter Four, “The Fantastic Binomial”:

We have seen the birth of the fantastic—as the starting point for a story—originate from a single word. But this is an optical illusion more than anything else. In reality, one electrical pole is not enough to cause a spark; it takes two. The single word “acts” only when it encounters a second that provokes it out of its unusual tracks to discover new possibilities of meaning. Where there is no struggle, there is no life.

What synchronicity, that on the same day I read those words, I stumbled upon a little drawing challenge of imaginary flowers hosted by the talented artist Estee Zales, incorporating those very principles. I’ve been thoroughly enjoying taking a break from the usual, to create a few nonsensical doodles… This was my creation for Day 5, pairing flower with…shoes! (Well, cowboy boots, in this case.)

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Sirin Thada (@sirinthadastudio)

Mary Delaney's Exquisite Collages

**© The Trustees of the British Museum**. Shared under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0) licence.

I first learned of Mary Delaney’s work thanks to a dear friend on social media, who accurately predicted I would be enchanted by her art. Even more enchanting is the fact that she started making this series of incredibly intricate collages (985 works total!) at the young age of…72!

With just paper and scissors, Delaney meticulously crafted each specimen, sometimes using around 200 petals per flower. She would paint in more detail with watercolor if needed, and the glue used to stick the pieces together was likely egg white, or a paste made from flour and water. I especially love the fact that she included both the common and scientific names of the plants depicted, the date and place they were made, and who donated the specimen.

You can browse the entire collection online via The British Museum, and a few more of my favorites below!

Japanese Printmakers

Hashimoto, Okiie. *Girl and Irises (Shobu to shojo)*, 1952. The Art Institute of Chicago (Mr. and Mrs. Hubert Fischer Fund; Kate S. Buckingham Endowment).

A huge influence behind my Sirina Ruby work, and just generally, is the art of several modern Japanese printmakers. The resulting textures, registration “errors,” overlays, are simply irresistible to me. From the choice of wood, carving tools, paper, and variety of techniques, I love that it’s such a warm, tactile process. A few more favorites below.

Yamaguchi, Susumu. *View of Mount Yakedake from Taisho Pond in Kamikochi in June*. 1939. The Art Institute of Chicago (Bruce Goff Archive, gift of Shin'enkan, Inc.)

Kawanishi, Hide. *Harbor,* 1900-1965. The Art Institute of Chicago (Gift of Oliver Statler).

Songkran and Traditional Thai Dress

I got to celebrate Songkran with my family over the weekend—the Thai New Year and water festival, where we symbolically wash away misfortunes, pray for prosperity for the coming year, and honor family and community. Wat Tummapratiep DC has an AMAZING 2-day festival, open to the public—so many dishes and desserts that you can usually only find in Thailand (some Laotian and Vietnamese foods too!). It’s a foodie’s dream, a great way to support local businesses, and truly a hidden gem if you’re visiting the DC area in April.

It’s also a chance for many of us to dress in traditional Thai formal wear, which showcases some of the most incredible textile work. The intricate designs you see on traditional Thai skirts are not printed, but actually woven.

Source: JJ Harrison (https://www.jjharrison.com.au/).

And finally, a wonderful primer on some of the different types of Thai royal traditional dress:

Because...Doggos!

I’m just beginning to explore some dog characters, so I let myself have some fun painting a few faces in my sketchbook. And yes, that is my beloved Indie in the top right corner (she can be a bit of a scaredy cat sometimes!)

For a very long time, realism was the only way I knew how to draw things. I’m still constantly trying to find the right balance between stylized versus realistic representation, and tight compositions that still feel loose, spontaneous, and alive. And when I first started sketching these puppers, they were looking far too realistic for my liking.

“Draw them with your left hand,” my partner suggested. It was just what I needed to get the right level of “wonkiness” for the undersketch, and then I went back and refined them a bit more with my usual drawing hand.

Drawing with your non-dominant hand was something I learned from my high school art teacher, but it had been ages since I tried it again. I’m so glad I did, as it’s a really great exercise to try if you’re struggling to break out of old drawing habits, or just want to explore a fresh look.

Millefiori-Inspired Timelapse

A little watercolor painting inspired by millefiori glasswork! Timelapse below:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Sirin Thada (@sirinthadastudio)

While we typically associate millefiori with Venetian glass, in fact the art of these layered mosaic beads can be traced back to Ancient Roman, Phoenician and Alexandrian times. Here are some lovelies from the Roman era, courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art:

To get that organic layered feel, I practiced my wet-on-wet skills, using Dr. Ph. Martin’s radiant concentrated watercolor. I often use a mix of liquid acrylics, acrylic gouache, and watercolor—which means some layers are permanent, while others can be reactivated with water. And that can lead to some nice bleeds, runny colors, faded spots… I love that element of unpredictability, of the work having a life of its own!

First I lay down a light wash of acrylic ink in raw sienna, to give a warm cast to the whole illustration. Next, I used my Neocolor crayon in beige, to very lightly block out different garden “sections.” I wanted to make sure there was a nice variety of both big and small “plots” of flowers, so it helped to decide that beforehand (and since the crayons are water-soluble, the outlines just melt away beautifully into the painting when activated with water.) The rest was just done on the fly. Some dots of rubbing alcohol help create that cool dotted effect, and acrylic Posca paint markers came in handy when I decided to throw in a black cat at the very last minute!

Full material list:

Canson XL watercolor paper
Princeton Umbria Round 2 brush (I reach for this brush the most)
Liquitex Acrylic Ink in transparent raw sienna (for the background wash)
Caran D’Ache Neocolor II Aquarelle wax pastel crayon in beige
Dr. Ph. Martin’s radiant concentrated watercolor in Slate Blue, Daffodil Yellow, Cyclamen, Ice Pink, Olive Green, and Sepia
Rubbing alcohol (so fun for creating cool resist effects with watercolor! Use an old brush for this—alcohol is very harsh on the bristles!)
Posca paint markers in black and white

Fantastical Botanicals (and the Voynich Manuscript)

A children's book watercolor illustration of two kids watering a giant flower in a garden.

Since we were on the topic of scientific logbooks and journals last week, another one I adore is the Voynich Manuscript–a 15th century text written in code, filled with mysterious botanical illustrations and otherworldly diagrams. To this day, no one has deciphered it! But you can find all of its glorious pages online, thanks to the digital collections of Yale University.

*Voynich Manuscript.* General Collection, Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University.

Revisiting those beautiful, mysterious old pages got me in the mood to paint my own fantastical botanicals. As for all the dots? I’ve been a bit obsessed with orbicular jasper lately:

Detail image of orbicular jasper from Madagascar.

It’s a form of cryptocrystalline quartz, formed when silica-rich water percolates through cracks and fissures in other rocks. Over time, the water mineralizes and deposits tiny quartz crystals, which fill in the spaces and eventually replace the original rock.

The distinct patterns are created by various mineral impurities or inclusions within the silica solution–minerals such as hematite, goethite, chlorite, or other oxides and hydroxides, crystallize in concentric layers around a nucleus, which forms the orb-like structures.

19th Century Whaling Journals

Today’s little illustration was inspired by…old whaling journals!

In the 19th century, travelers on whaling ships would record daily events in official logbooks and personal diaries. Sea routes, ship repairs, weather conditions and daily activities were documented in pen and ink–oftentimes accompanied by the most charming artwork. I could lose myself for hours in those tattered pages. Links below in the captions, where you can go down the rabbit hole yourself… Auction websites are also great resources for perusing pages of some privately-owned beauties.

*Log of the Ship Washington*, 1842. Source: Nantucket Historical Association.

*Journal of the Bengal out of Salem*, 1832. Source: Providence Public Library.

*Logbook of the Lewis of Dorchester*, 1835. Source: New Bedford Whaling Museum.

*Journal of the Kate Cory out of Westport*, 1861. Source: Providence Public Library.

*Log of the Ship Indian Chief*, 1842. Source: Nantucket Historical Association.

Ritual and Repitition (and the Buddhist Ceremony of Fang Luk Nimit)

Today’s sketchbook experiment! (Which will make more sense by the end of this post.)

In the simplest terms, luk nimit are spherical sculptures, typically made of stone or concrete, used to demarcate sacred Buddhist grounds.

On a recent visit to my parents, we spent a Sunday afternoon at Wat Tummaprateip to celebrate the birthday of abbot Phrakhru Soonthon Srisongkhram, and it’s where I got to participate in the ritual of fang luk nimit for my very first time. We waited in line with other congregants for our turn to ladle concrete into the spherical molds, while reciting prayers, and receiving blessings.

I love the idea that these simple orbs are very slowly, very intentionally, formed by so many hands of the community. Once hardened, they will eventually be buried underground–but before that, they are blessed by the monks, and the community is again invited to take part in the process by applying gold leaf to them and reciting prayers.

It’s yet another slow, mindful process, where that magnificent layer of gold is actually the direct manifestation of many hopes, wishes, and prayers…from many hands, hearts and minds. I love that all these single, tiny actions, lead to such glorious results.

Now back to my sketchbook exercise. After writing this, I wanted to play with the idea of small repetitive acts. I grabbed an old stamp and applied it over and over to create the entire foundation for the doodle, from the sky, to the grass, to the dresses and flower petals… Then filled the details in by hand with colored pencil, and did a little clean up digitally. A fun little exercise in mark-making!

The old stamp I used, and the quick stencils I made from scrap printer paper!

Playing With Shadows (and the Art of Thai Shadow Puppets)

A recent sketchbook doodle, playing with patterns and shadows.

And speaking of shadows, there’s this:

Suchart Subsin Shadow Puppetry Museum. Photo: Kent Wang.

I’ve long been obsessed with the traditional Thai art form of nang talung, or nang yai. Entire tales of star-crossed lovers and wandering heroes are told by intricate, lace-like shadows flickering across a white screen, as traditional music plays in the background (similar arts are also found in Cambodia, Malaysia, and Indonesia.)

The “puppets” are incredible works of art in their own right–made from leather that has been hand painted and meticulously hand punched. I vividly remember seeing these traditional Thai puppet shows on our family trips, and was completely enchanted by them.

And we can’t talk about shadows without paying homage to the nostalgic fun of folding your hands to form a giant bunny (or goose) on your bedroom wall. (I love every image from this book.)

Source: Bursill, Henry. *Hand Shadows*, 1859.

Rough Sketches and Van Gogh's Drawings

Composition is always the most challenging part for me—creating a scene that furthers its purpose, with elements balanced accordingly, and perhaps with some innovation too… It’s a lot to convey, and up until now, my rough sketches have been very tight and less enchanting than I would like them to be. So I’ve been trying to loosen up a bit, to more accurately reflect the spirit of the scribbles, bleeds and blooms that follow… Replacing crisp outlines with softer dots and dashes, and lightening up stiff forms with more fluidity. And, just trying to make them a bit more delightful overall.

Here’s the rough sketch for the illustration above (I ended up changing the brush to a pen nib in the final, to make the object clearer):

And a sneak peek at another rough sketch, for a piece that will come out in a few months:

I’m happy with how these are beginning to feel. Van Gogh’s drawings have long been a favorite of mine, and I’ve been turning to them often lately for guidance. I love how he captures life and movement with his expressive marks. And now I leave you with some of his delectable drawings:

La Crau Seen from Montmajour. Source: Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam (Vincent van Gogh Foundation).

The Sower. Source: Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam (Vincent van Gogh Foundation).

Visible Earth and Visible Process

From high in the sky, to down deep between blades of grass–as an illustrator, I am constantly pushing myself to see and draw things from unusual perspectives. The world exists just as it has for billions of years; and yet a shift in viewpoint can turn the seemingly impossible into reality, and reality into something magical. New angles lead to new meanings; new ways of falling in love with the same old stardust, the same old daily grind.

Once a week I’ll be sharing my eclectic sources of inspiration, sketchbook exercises in mark-making, and deeper dives into all the random influences that underlie my work. Lately I’ve been more disciplined in my art practice, carving out pockets of time for…play. And spontaneity. And exploration. And I’m starting this blog as a way of documenting that journey, with the hopes that it gives you a deeper understanding of what and how I create, and perhaps fuels your practice as well!

Today’s little entry was a quick study in shadow, light and organic patterns, thanks to Visible Earth. It’s an immense catalog of (mostly free and public domain!) NASA images of our planet–a good reminder that the most stunning abstract compositions come from nature herself (and an incredible catalog of our impact on the environment).